Chapter Twenty-Seven

Mitch paced the deck. Anger and grief and an overwhelming sense of dread and loss swirled through his body, muddling his thoughts. He’d done what he had to do to protect her, but her reaction filled him with a sour sense of guilt. She was brave and qualified to handle the assignment, but his heart couldn’t put her in any more danger. Even if his actions meant she’d hate him for the rest of her life.

After what could have been a mere minute or as long as ten, he gained control of his emotions and set his jaw with iron-willed intent. He was a Ranger and had a job to do. Part of that job was to pass on the news that Andrea was off the team and the assignment as it existed now was ending. Another part was to prepare for her successful extraction.

He notified Kenyon, who was on guard duty, and ordered, “Bring the car around in an hour. The captain is having someone carry several empty suitcases out in a few minutes. Take them to the car and make a big show of stowing them in the trunk. When we’re ready to leave, Gregory and I will ride with you to the airport.”

Mitch keyed his radio. “Gregory. Report your position.”

“In the break area off the lounge and crew dining room.”

“Stick around, I’ll be right down.”

Gregory sat at a small table with his knees out to the side, probably because they wouldn’t fit underneath. A mug of black coffee sat by a plate holding a half-eaten cheese Danish.

When Mitch came into the room, Gregory nodded and said, “The food on this assignment sure beats the hell out of most. I’ll be heartbroken when the chef and I have to part ways.”

“Sorry, but that’s going to happen sooner than we expected. We’re pulling Andrea out.”

“When?”

“Fifty minutes.”

Gregory grinned. “I don’t think she’s going to be happy to hear that.”

“I just told her, and she bit my head off.”

“Figures. So how are we covering her exit?”

“We’re taking her off the boat and out to the airport. The pilot’s been instructed not to file a flight plan until the last minute. That may help keep their destination a secret.”

“Our perp may have a way to trace the jet.”

Mitch nodded. “True, but I think we can put in a couple stops and make the route so complex that there won’t be any clear information on where Karli disembarked. Stone has given us the okay to set up some false hotel registrations. We’ll drop luggage in San Juan and Providenciales. I think we can arrange a wild-goose chase or two.”

“If she goes back to her own identity and doesn’t look like Karli any longer, she can probably slip away unnoticed somewhere along the line.”

“We have to make sure that happens. She has to stay safe. I intend to make darn sure our perp doesn’t start shooting at Andrea after she’s back home in Boston.”

“I hate to admit we couldn’t nab him, but using a decoy was a crapshoot.” Gregory shrugged his wide shoulders. “We’ll get him sooner or later. They always make a mistake, and there’s always another way. There’s no shame in the first round ending in a draw.”

Mitch remembered the arguments he’d given Andrea where he’d said practically the same thing. And how he’d insisted that she wasn’t responsible for the outcome of the assignment. He suddenly realized that he’d do well to listen to his own words. They were all human, all had limitations, including him. Everything that happened wasn’t a reflection on his talents or skills.

On this assignment, or any assignment.

He couldn’t have predicted that Steve would dash out to save the little girl. He wasn’t a psychic and couldn’t read minds. Being blindsided by his partner’s actions proved he was a normal human with no clairvoyant powers, but it didn’t mean he was slipping. He hadn’t been able to control what happened, but that didn’t make it his fault. Steve’s death was a tragedy, not proof he was losing his edge.

Gregory drained the remaining coffee from his cup and said, “When this yacht gig is over, I’m taking the girl I’ve been dating for a night on the town. It’s none of my business, but have you and Andrea got something going?”

Mitch carefully controlled his expression as he turned his back and, for a diversion, headed toward the coffee machine. “No. Why do you ask?”

His brain repeated the question. Did they have something going? He thought it was something, maybe even something good, but couldn’t identify what. He enjoyed being with her, talking with her, laughing with her. His spirits lifted whenever she walked into a room, and she turned him on like no woman ever had before. At first, he’d been able to think he was simply doing his job, but now he knew the emotion he felt was much more than wanting to protect her and keep her safe. And, damn, the idea of her leaving was ripping a crevasse the size of the Grand Canyon in his gut. But was that “something”? He poured a mug of coffee and, only half paying attention, stirred in too much sugar.

When he turned around, Gregory had a knowing grin on his face. “I just thought there might be something happening. She’s one gorgeous woman. When you two are anywhere near each other sparks fly, and I half expect the air to spontaneously combust. Plus when you were sporting that tux the other night she was practically devouring you with her eyes. And you were gawking right back at her.”

Mitch pictured Andrea in her black-and-white gown. And then Andrea naked, making love to him, coming apart in his arms. “Of course I was looking. So was every other man in the place, probably including you.”

“Okay, busted.” Gregory shrugged again. “If you’re sure you’re not into anything with her and you need a date, I know a girl who’s your type.”

“My type?” Mitch said it as a joke, but something inside him felt no humor.

“Wild and wanton. Easy to get into bed. Quick to understand that you need your freedom. Isn’t that the way you like ’em?”

Did he like that kind of woman? Did he want a relationship with Andrea, or did he really want his freedom? He felt something strong for Andrea but was unsure what to call it. “Stay tuned. I’ll let you know.”

“I guess there’s one bright spot in the assignment here ending. We’ll be able to catch the big game tomorrow. Montgomery versus Carnegie. Should be a bloodbath.”

A strange jolt hit Mitch’s brain at the sound of Andrea’s last name. “Carnegie?”

“Yeah, you know, Damian Carnegie. Quarterback. Last year’s Super Bowl MVP.”

Mitch twisted his mouth quizzically. Was there a connection between Andrea and the Carnegie football dynasty? She’d told him a few things that pointed in that direction. Her father had traveled a lot, and a coach was constantly on the road. Her brothers were sent explicit videos by women. If they were athletes and celebrities, that was totally believable. Her family was wealthy. Top coaches and players got outrageous contracts. Was she the everyday person in an extraordinary family? No one could really call Andrea ordinary, but compared to that kind of family she might feel inadequate and be driven to succeed.

He shrugged and grinned. His imagination was probably getting carried away. There must be millions of families other than the football Carnegies where girls were raised by wealthy fathers and grew up with sex-crazed brothers.

Something else was probably what pushed her buttons.

…

Andrea heard the phone buzz, picked it up, and glanced at the display. More out of habit than interest, she read the text message. When she’d finished puzzling over the words, she realized why the message seemed cryptic: the phone wasn’t hers. It was standard Ranger issue, but belonged to Mitch. He must have left it in her cabin when he’d stormed out.

She read the message from the lab tech again. The fingerprint on the bug she and Mitch had found in the dining area had been identified as belonging to Elliott Stone.

She forgot about packing. Elliott Stone. Dillon’s own cousin had bugged the yacht? That didn’t make any sense. Elliott probably had ample opportunity to plant the device, but why would he do such a thing? Weren’t all three Stones supposed to be close and love one another? She shook her head. The techs must have made a mistake.

Karli’s cell phone rang.

Andrea turned and stared at it for a second. Speak of the devil. Caller ID said Elliott was on the line. She pondered whether to respond.

Mitch had told her she was off the case. But was she going to let him foul up her life? She was still here and as long as she was, shouldn’t she continue to act as if she were Karli? She pressed the button to answer. “Hello.”

“Karli, I’m so relieved I got a hold of you. Don’t say anything, just listen. I need you to come to the dealership. Don’t tell anyone. It’s important. I have to talk to you alone.”

She put a couple inches between her mouth and the phone. If her voice was faint, he might not pick up on any difference from Karli’s. “What about?”

“I can’t answer questions now. But come right away. It’s about…” He paused, and she heard him draw in a deep breath. He spoke more slowly when he continued. “Ah, some…rumors. Someone is spreading terrible rumors about an…inappropriate relationship between you and Dillon.”

Rumors about a relationship. The video, of course. But why was Elliott calling? To help or gloat?

She pictured the position of the bug. There was always the possibility that Elliott could have touched it while he was sitting at the table. Plus, he owned or managed a yacht maintenance company. Maybe there was a perfectly logical explanation for how the print got there. Just because his print was on the bug didn’t prove he’d been the one who’d planted it. Needing a moment to think, she asked, “Who? What kind of rumors?”

“Not over the phone. We’ll talk when you get here. But you have to come quick. If we do something now, we might be able to head off a disaster.”

Should she tell him the truth about the swap? Stall? “I’m…”

He didn’t give her time to finish. “Do you want me to come pick you up?”

She licked her lips. Maybe standing in for Karli didn’t have to be a complete bust. If nothing else, she might be able to save the woman from some humiliation. If Elliot had planted the bug, why would he call and tell Karli about rumors? If he hadn’t planted it but knew who did, she wanted to find out the person’s identity and inform Dillon. Helping Karli and Dillon deal with their personal problems wasn’t part of her assignment to catch a would-be killer, but if she could prevent the intimate details of their relationship from being splashed all over the front page of a dozen tabloids, shouldn’t she try? If she blew off Elliott’s request, Karli could spend the rest of her life as “the woman who had an affair with her brother” and be the brunt of millions of dirty jokes and endless snide remarks.

Transportation to the dealership would present a problem. But meeting Elliott in the marina parking lot where the gunman had shot at her before, and could still be watching, was suicidal. Better if she sneaked away. “No. That’s not necessary. I’ll…use the limo.” Or find a taxi.

Before she could ask anything else, he disconnected.

Shoot, how should she handle this? She considered finding Mitch, or waiting for him to return for his phone, and telling him where she was going. Then her gaze landed on the open suitcase, and Mitch’s betrayal slammed into her mind. He hadn’t taken her side and wanted to send her home. Anger bubbled in her blood.

No one had seriously taken the opportunity to kill her before, so going might not be too great a risk. She would meet Elliott and find out what he knew about the bug and camera alone. She’d prove Dillon and Mitch wrong. She’d demonstrate that she was capable of getting to the bottom of a problem, even if the problem at hand wasn’t their primary mission.

First things first, she had to get off the yacht. Andrea grabbed a big, roomy purse and a pair of tennis shoes from the closet and stuffed Karli’s phone and the shoes inside. The purse looked strangely empty. No wallet! Shit, she had no cash for a taxi. Mitch had paid for everything at the clothing shop with Dillon’s credit card. She dropped the purse and pulled out her backpack. She rummaged in the pockets, found fifty-eight dollars, and slid the bills in the purse. There would most likely be a taxi or two hanging around waiting for a fare in the vicinity of the marina. If not, she’d walk to the hotel and shopping complex next door where there was sure to be several.

Glancing at the empty drawer in the bedside table where her Glock should be, she blew out a breath. She only had a small mail opener left for a weapon, but shouldn’t need a weapon anyway. She slipped the mail opener in her purse and took it along.

As she put a hand on the doorknob, her gaze fell on Mitch’s cell lying on the table. Guilt crept through her veins.

She stopped and punched in his cell number on Karli’s phone. She’d leave a message and be long gone before he realized he’d left his phone and came back to her cabin to retrieve it. If she didn’t leave a message, Mitch might think she’d been abducted. She didn’t want him, Kenyon, and Gregory to misunderstand and panic.

When the phone rang, then went to voice mail, she debated what to say and finally left the message, “Elliott Stone called Karli, said he’d heard rumors about her and Dillon, and wanted to meet. I’ve gone to talk with him about the video.”

Something inside her wanted to trust Mitch, wanted to reconsider and tell him where she was headed in person. Plus knowing she had someone covering her back as she walked down the docks would calm her nerves. Should she use the radio to call him?

She straightened her shoulders and shook off her doubts. The half-packed suitcase on the bed spoke loudly of his opinion of her, and focusing on that insult hardened her resolve. If she told him, he’d just try to stop her.

She glanced at Karli’s delicate diamond watch. Seven minutes had already passed since Elliott’s call. She needed to get on the road and had a stop to make first. After cracking the door open and checking the hallway to be sure she wouldn’t be seen, she slipped out of her cabin and, silent as a cat stalking a mouse, headed for the stairs and the crew quarters.

In the laundry, Andrea chose a newly cleaned uniform from the rack near the washer and dryer and quickly slipped it over her clothes. She changed into the tennis shoes, putting Karli’s stilettos in the purse, then covering her hair as best she could, tied a large dinner napkin at the back of her neck. Hoping no one would look at her too closely and realize she wasn’t a maid, she headed for the boarding ramp

One other problem remained. How could she slip past whoever was standing guard?